The night before, my mom drank so much, probs pills too, and had a seizure. I grabbed the pillows from the couch, put one underneath and on both sides of her head and sat with her convulsing in my arms. This was a regular occurrence that year.
The years leading up to this were chaotic, unstable, violent, terrifying. And the culture in my home was… don’t talk about it. It’s fine. You’re being dramatic.
Stepping into a room where an adult told the truth and invited me to tell the truth too was everything I dreamt of.
Hearing stories from others my age with similar experiences and insights, validating that I wasn’t crazy for feeling what I felt, I wasn’t making it all up, and the whole thing really wasn’t fine… gave me direction in life.
I left that first meeting with a list of books to read and later that week walked to our local bookstore with my babysitting money and discovered my new favorite place on earth—the self help and psychology aisle of the bookstore.
It took me a lot of years of learning and listening, of ignoring and learning the hard way, of passionately studying and exploring the human psyche-heArt-soma-soul before I was able to make sense of what was so insensible and create change in myself and in my life *that was an authentic expression of my heArt instead of a reactivity to my pain*. This is such a subtle thing.
I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. How subtle growth is. How the most profound change happens quietly… until it’s loud. How much honesty is required for any true change to occur. How much willingness is required. How long it can take. How quickly It All can arrive. How what you thought you wanted can feel… suffocating… when you get it. How what you thought you didn’t want can feel like… you’ve waited your whole life to find it.
How this 35 year old woman can feel LIGHTYEARS away from that 13 year old girl and in just a moment of remembering, be right back in that moment. But with an entirely different vantage point.
Did it really happen then? Or is It All happening… Now?
Xx
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